The End Must Come
by BurstingAtTheSeams
Summary: Set after the second film. With Mindy gone and Chris apparently dead, Dave is left to pick up the pieces of his old life alone and away from NYC. One year on, Dave is trying to settle down to life at college, but is the D'Amico threat really buried? Or will he suffer further fallout from the duo's violent justice spree? M for mature language and possible violent/suggestive themes.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: Hullo all! Just a quick note to say this is my first Kick Ass story - after seeing the second film, I got to thinking about what might happen in the aftermath of it all with Mindy apparently gone for good and Dave left behind with...well, not much. It's only my fourth fanfiction (I've done a few for Inception before this), so would love any constructive comments along the way. I am very pedantic with my spelling, punctuation, grammar and so on, but tend to skim over the finished product quite quickly, so apologies for any mishaps along the way. Also, I am English, not American, so please don't hesitate to point out something that doesn't sit right with American vocab!**

**Lastly, I've only just picked up the first graphic novel of Kick Ass and have the next two on the way, so I have decided to write this using the film's storyline and characters as it's the one I know best at the moment. I may do another story based in the comic's universe once I've read them all. But that's for another day! I hope you enjoy this first attempt at a KA story; I will upload as and when my job allows, which hopefully won't be too sporadically. :)**

**1.**

It was 4.35am on a bleak Wednesday morning, and nearly-eighteen-year-old Dave Lizewski was the only one in his dingy neighbourhood awake and moving. He was sitting in the middle of his living room, alone and slightly numb, surrounded by photos and clothes and tacky knick knacks that had been acquired over the last twenty years. All other sensible, ordinary people were still fast asleep in their beds, clinging to the last remnants of sleep before their hated alarm clocks shattered their slumbers and dragged them up for yet another day of daily grind in the 'Big Apple'.

Then again, Dave Lizewski was anything but 'ordinary' (or sensible, for that matter). Not only did he have an increased pain threshold since being stabbed, run over and left for dead four years earlier, but he was now, as of precisely eight days, two hours and thirty six minutes ago, an orphan. Oh, and did he forget to mention a superhero? Not a freak with magical powers from outer space, or a billionaire playboy protecting a corrupt city – no, Dave was just an ordinary teenager who had paid the price for trying to lead a more exciting life by following a childish dream.

For a while, it had worked. For a while, he had had everything he ever dreamed of: a family who loved him, a hot, super-popular girlfriend every guy in school fantasised about, and an alter-ego that the city worshipped. Not just the nerds in the comic store, but _everyone_…who wasn't a criminal, at least.

Now what did he have?

Nothing.

Not a damn thing.

His dad was dead, his costume hung up for good, and the cops on his ass for participating in the murders of fifteen lunatics dressed as supervillains – otherwise known as the 'Toxic Mega-Cunts', led by the whackjob (and also orphaned) son of the late mob boss Frank D'Amico on the hunt for brutal vengeance.

Although Dave couldn't say he relished the sight of his arch-enemy being eaten alive by a shark, he had at least felt the thrill of victory for a short time afterwards. Avenging his dad's death, finally finishing the job he unwittingly started four years earlier…it felt good.

Yet Dr Gravity was right: they couldn't do it anymore. With the cops being scrutinised after failing to reign in the costumed vigilantes, they were cracking down even harder on anyone even suspected of consorting with the so-called 'real superheroes'. Besides, even if he had been able to continue, would he have wanted to? He would forever have his dad's death on his conscience, but that wasn't the only reason, if he was being entirely truthful…

The thing was, Dave was nothing without his deadly, foul-mouthed, badass bitch of a partner, fifteen-year-old Mindy 'Hit Girl' McCready. Without her by his side, slicing and dicing the bad guys as though they were nothing more than juicy steaks, he had lost what little desire had remained to keep his superhero persona alive. She was gone, with little more than a quick kiss (what _was_ that, anyway?) and a hurried explanation that she couldn't put her guardian, Marcus, through the hell of seeing her arrested and charged with multiple homicide. Whilst he had still been processing this information, she had whipped on her helmet and sped away on her purple Ducati motorcycle, literally leaving him in a cloud of burning rubber dust.

And that was that.

He was, now, officially alone.

A sudden shrill ringing pierced the air, making Dave start as he looked wildly around for the source of it. After flinging his dad's old camo jacket off the couch, he found it: the cordless telephone, off the hook and with one battery segment remaining. He vaguely remembered throwing it there in a fit of rage after speaking to social services, who insisted that he needed to be rehomed with a family until he was eighteen and legally allowed to live alone.

Without stopping to wonder who might be ringing at this time in the morning (and secretly hoping it might be Mindy telling him she was okay), he jammed his thumb onto the green receiver button and pushed the phone to his ear.

'Hel-lo?' he grunted, before clearing his voice of twenty-four hours of disuse and trying again. 'Hello?'

'Dave Lizewski?'

The voice was gruff, deep – a man's – and not the one he was hoping or expecting to hear. Dave frowned. _Another social worker?_ he wondered.

'Yes?' he replied warily.

'Do you know who I am?' the man asked.

Dave's brow furrowed deeper. The voice _was_ familiar, now that he thought about it. But from where? He racked his brains, trying to pin a face to the words, before giving up.

'Um…no?'

He didn't mean it to be a question, but the note rose in pitch regardless.

'My name's Marcus Williams. I'm – '

'Shit,' Dave muttered under his breath.

Mindy's guardian, and a cop to boot. Dave realised he should have expected this; after all, Mindy had upped and left without seeing Marcus again.

'I take it from that you _do_ remember me?' Marcus said, no hint of amusement in his steely voice.

'Yeah, of course. Mindy's guardian.'

'Right, so let's cut to the chase.' Dave clutched the phone tighter, knowing what was coming. 'Where's Mindy?'

Just as expected.

'I don't know,' Dave responded honestly. 'She didn't tell me.'

'Bullshit,' Marcus hissed down the line. 'You two were close as fucking Bonnie and Clyde, so don't you tell me she didn't say where she took off to.'

'Honestly Mr Williams, I have no idea. She just told me she didn't want to put you through the pain of seeing her arrested and thrown into jail for murder, so she was leaving New York. I asked her where she was going, but she told me she didn't want to be tracked down. I don't know, maybe she thought I'd be questioned and might let it slip or something.'

The thought, which Dave hadn't considered before, actually hurt. Was that the reason she didn't tell him? Did she think he would rat her out to the cops? He glared at the wall opposite, unable to think up a more convincing answer. After all they had been through…was that really what she thought of him? Had he not proven his loyalty, his trustworthiness over the past four years they had been (sort of) friends?

It was only when Marcus sighed heavily into his ear that Dave remembered he was having a conversation. 'Fine, let's say I believe you…for now,' he said reluctantly. 'But if I find out you _do _know…'

He left the unspoken threat hanging in the air; Dave knew he was being completely serious. He could picture the look on the older man's face: the same one he had when telling Dave 'I don't like problems' a few months previously. Marcus was not someone he wanted to get on the wrong side of.

'I don't.'

'Then you need to seriously think about what you do now.'

The man's words, coupled with the almost imperceptible softer tone of voice, took Dave off-guard. 'What?' was all he managed to say.

'Listen, the PD's all over this case – two gangs of costumed people beating the shit out of each other in a warehouse, some end up dead, others hospitalised…it doesn't look good for the cops after their crackdown in the last few weeks. If you're found to be involved, you'll be locked up – and I don't just mean for a night. They're gunning for people to pin this on, and it's not going to be pretty.'

'Why are you telling me this?' Dave asked, both confused and suspicious at the same time. 'Shouldn't you be the one arresting me if you know I was involved?'

Again Marcus sighed, this time seeming to take a few moments to choose his words carefully. 'Look, I'll admit, I didn't like what you and Mindy were up to. It's illegal, yes, but that's not the main reason. The last thing I wanted was for that little girl to get hurt, or worse. She's like a proper daughter to me, and I couldn't protect her the way I wanted to.' He paused, again considering his words. 'Now, the city's not going to miss the lowlife scumbags you two took out over the years – contrary to what it seems, the PD's grudgingly grateful for what you did, although they'll never say it in public. But they have to be seen to do something over this. Out of respect for Mindy, and your dad, and everything you two accomplished, I'm giving you fair warning to get out of New York, start somewhere fresh. If you don't…well, I can't guarantee anything.'

Dave was silent for a long time, turning Marcus's words over and over in his mind. He had two choices: stay and get arrested (if Marcus knew who he was, who else in the PD did? It surely wouldn't be hard to put two and two together after his dad's death as 'Kick Ass' and come up with a resounding four)…or leave everything behind and move to a new state, start a new life away from the painful memories of New York City.

Leave _everything _behind? What did he have now, anyway? Nothing, except Todd and Marty, and they'd be heading off to college in a few months anyway once they graduated from high school. Something he had been planning to do once upon a time…

'Okay,' he sighed, making up his mind. 'I'll go.'

'That's a smart choice, kid. Pack up whatever you want to take. Only things you can't bear to leave behind. I can help you get a new ID and get out of town, but after that you're on your own.'

Dave's head began to spin as the reality of his choice sank in…a new home, a new name, a new school, if he wanted to graduate and have a shot at getting into college. Could he really do it?

Did he have a choice?

'Oh, one more thing,' Marcus said quickly, sounding like he wanted to end the conversation as soon as possible. 'Swing by here tomorrow evening around eight. Mindy left something for you before she left.'

With that, the line went dead, leaving Dave staring at the phone still in his hand.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: I had this one written up at the same time so figured, what the hell, I may as well upload it today too. To avoid confusion, I'll just point out that these two chapters are not actually set one year on (obviously). But others will be. These are simply a continuation of the film as I see it, and to set the scene up for what happens later :)**

**Without further ado, I hope you enjoy! Again, feel free to point out inconsistencies, misused English/American vocab or to simply let me know what you think of it so far. Any and all comments are appreciated.**

**2.**

Dave spent most of the next day hurriedly packing a small duffel bag with a few changes of clothes, some food, and mementos of his life that he couldn't bear to be without: photographs of his parents, the first CD his dad had bought him, the poster his dad had proudly stuck on his wall, his mum's wedding ring…small things that wouldn't take up much space, but which he could not bring himself to walk away from. Once or twice the tears threatened to spill over his eyelids and stop him in his frenzied tracks, but he held them back; he didn't want to arrive at Marcus's house puffy-eyed and red-faced.

The rest of the day he spent texting Todd and Marty, telling them he was leaving and would try to ring them as soon as he could, tidying the house up as best he could, and generally getting more and more impatient for eight o'clock to arrive. Why hadn't Mindy told him she had left him something? She had had plenty of opportunity before she whisked away into the sunset – heck, she could have given it to him there and then instead of risking him never finding out. She must have known that Marcus would somehow track him down and tell him…

Finally, he could wait no longer. At half past seven, he strode out of his house with his bag on his back and biked the two miles to Mindy's house – a journey that took only ten minutes. He hardly noticed the sounds of life around him as he rode: children laughing as they played football in the streets, scowling at him as he ploughed straight through their makeshift pitch; cars honking in the distance; dogs barking in their desperation to be let back into their owners' houses; people shouting, TVs blaring from the open windows…everything blurred into a mass of muffled noise, blocked out by the thoughts that were screaming inside Dave's head instead. Try as he might, he couldn't ignore _them_.

Marcus wasn't there when Dave arrived, so he hunkered down on the porch away from any prying eyes and waited, staring out into the road, watching with hawk-like eyes for any sudden movements, listening for the tell-tale signs of squealing sirens that would foretell his capture. The occasional gust of wind, the rustle of nearby trees, were enough to turn his head and make his heart beat that much faster in his chest.

But nothing happened. Marcus found him fifteen minutes later and frowned at the vigilant, exhausted-looking young man currently squatting outside his house. Yet, instead of questioning him, he immediately asked him inside. After only a split second hesitation, Dave followed.

'Would you like a drink?' Marcus asked him politely.

Dave shook his head. 'No, thanks. I just…'

He trailed off, not wanting to sound rude; all he wanted was to find out whatever Mindy had left him and leave. He was sure he could trust his friend's guardian, but being in a cop's house at that moment still filled him with unease.

Marcus simply nodded his understanding and led him upstairs. Dave trudged along behind him, and was surprised to find himself standing in the doorway of a _very_ pink bedroom moments later. The only logical explanation was that this was – or rather, had been – Mindy's room. Somehow, Dave found it hard to believe that the fluffy teddies and baby pink bed sheets had been her idea.

Marcus bent down to pull a black rucksack out from under the four-poster bed and motioned for Dave to step into the room.

'Read this first,' he said, thrusting a neat piece of paper into Dave's slightly trembling hands.

Dave looked down to find Mindy's scrawled words shining back up at him, written in – what else? – purple ink. He couldn't stop the involuntary smile as he scanned the messy handwriting he knew so well. Then, when he could avoid it no longer, he began to read:

_Dear Dave,_

_I know you probably hate me now after ditching you like I did, but it was for the best. I don't know if there will be huge fallout over the warehouse stuff, but I'm definitely in the shit for killing those guys with Marcus's gun. I can't even use the excuse that I was rescuing your sorry ass because the 'justice' system is so fucked up, so this is my only choice. Believe me, if I could stay, I would._

_I know things are going to be rough for you for a while, and I want to be around to help you get through it, but here's the only thing I could think of that might help instead. I've left a bag with Marcus containing some of the money Daddy and I had – don't worry, it's untraceable and it's _not_ the whole three mil. What would I use otherwise? But it should be enough to help you get away from NYC and start again. Marcus will help you get set up, I know he will, so don't be afraid to ask for his help even though he is a cop._

_I'm not very good at these things (don't smile – I know you!), so I'll just leave it here. If I come back in twenty years and find you banged up in Sing Sing despite this, don't expect me to save your ass again! This is all the help you're getting from me, buster._

_See you around,_

_Mindy . x_

Dave read the letter twice, absorbing Mindy's words, imagining her speaking them aloud in her quirky, sarcastic way. He cracked a smile at the 'x' at the bottom: the faint ink dot before it told him she had hesitated before deciding to write one. Sure, it was only a silly cross, but it touched him all the same.

Once he had gleaned all the information he could from the note, he looked back up at Marcus, who had been watching him the entire time. 'So…the bag…?'

'There's a fifty grand in there for you to take,' Marcus said matter-of-factly. Dave's eyebrows shot up into his mass of curly hair, nearly disappearing entirely. 'And another two hundred in an account with your new name on.'

Dave thought he could detect disapproval in Marcus's flat voice – he was a cop, after all, as well as Mindy's legal guardian – but he didn't say anything else.

'So, what? I leave with the money and go…er…'

Dave stopped. He realised in his impatience earlier that he hadn't even formulated a coherent plan about what he was going to do once he left the city. Where should he go? Where _could_ he go?

Marcus sighed, apparently reluctant to say what he did next: 'I've got it all set up for you,' he said wearily. 'That's why I didn't contact you for a few days. On Mindy's request, I've got you a new ID which says you're eighteen, so you don't get hassled by social services any more, enrolled you in a school out of state so you can graduate then go on to the college there, and rented you an apartment nearby campus. There's an old car in the garage that I was going to give Mindy on her sixteenth birthday in a few weeks, but…well, she won't be needing it now, I suppose.' He hesitated, sucking in a deep breath that told Dave that had been hard for him to say. 'A whole new life, away from the bullshit that's gone down recently. If you want it, it's yours.'

Dave didn't know what to say. To this man, he was a relative stranger; more than that, he was Kick Ass, a douchebag of a wannabe superhero, a teenager responsible for his fifteen-year-old daughter now being on the run from the cops. Yet he had gone to all this trouble to help him escape his past mistakes because his same daughter had simply asked him to. _He must really love Mindy,_ Dave thought as a pang of guilt stabbed him in the gut. He might be deadened to a certain amount of physical pain, but the emotional stuff still floored him. _I'm such an asshole…_

'I, er…don't really know what to say, Mr Williams.'

'First off, cut the 'Mr Williams' crap. It makes me sound old.' Dave looked for the hint of a smile, and thought he might have just seen a flicker. 'Second, I'm doing this for my little girl. It's what she wanted. It's what you both deserve after taking down all those scumbags – and that's strictly off the record, you hear?' Dave smiled his appreciation and nodded. 'Right, time to sort out the next step, then. You want a drink this time?' Marcus asked as he carried the bag out of the bedroom.

'Yeah, thanks. Water's fine.'

Dave slumped onto the couch as Marcus wandered into the kitchen, feeling the exhaustion of the past week finally catching up with him. He had barely slept for eight days since his father…

Pushing the painful thought from his mind, he scanned the room for something to focus his attention on. It looked like your average living room: plasma TV in the corner, a small fireplace, beige fabric three-piece suite, white walls, curtains…very ordinary. What caught his eye, however, was something that was decidedly _un_ordinary for the middle of summer: grey ashes in the log fireplace, crumbling coals and what looked to be the edges of burnt paper. Dave pushed himself to his feet and went over to investigate, wondering what Marcus had been destroying. Papers implicating Mindy? Stuff that revealed who she really was? Whatever they were, they were long gone, consumed by the angry flames of days past. That was, all except one piece.

One crumpled sheet remained, thousands of creases lining the cream paper that spoke of countless readings, perhaps hurt and anger. Knowing that he should respect Marcus's privacy, Dave hesitated, but he couldn't help but smooth the note out on the granite surface of the fireplace regardless. The purple ink told him everything he needed to know: another letter from Mindy, this time addressed simply to 'Marcus'. This time he did skim the letter, not wanting to invade the man's privacy any more than he was already, and caught only snippets: 'I'm so sorry…', 'I don't want to put you through…', 'Daddy was right when he said…', and most surprising of all 'Dave's a really good guy'. Seeing his name, Dave picked the note up and focused on the paragraph seemingly about him:

_He may act like a douche at times _(he frowned at this)_, but he's the closest thing I've ever had to a best friend. Hell, a friend period. What happened wasn't his fault. I wanted to be HG again, to do the things that Daddy taught me, to do what you can't do wearing that uniform. I know you only wanted to protect me, to help me have a 'normal' childhood, but the truth is, I was never happier than when I was with Dave. Training, fighting the fucking scum of the earth (another dollar for the jar, I know…) and feeling like we were making some sort of difference in the world. If things had been different…well, it's not worth thinking about that now. All I know is, he doesn't deserve what's coming to him. He's lost everything, just like I have, and I know how much that hurts. He's going to need someone to look out for him, someone better than me, and I need you to do that. Help him start again, away from all the BS going on right now. I know I'm asking a lot given who and what you are, but if there's only one thing you can do, I want it to be that. Besides you, he's the only thing I care about in this world – but don't you go fucking telling him that!_

Dave was so engrossed in Mindy's words once more that he failed to notice the footsteps that had approached and stopped behind him.

'You mean a lot to her, you know,' Marcus said quietly, making Dave jump for the second time in less than twelve hours. He handed Dave a bottled beer, which he accepted without comment. 'She might be a handful, might not show how she feels most of the time, but she wouldn't have chased after that van and busted caps in six guys with _my_ gun if she didn't care deeply about you. It's not all about the thrills for her.'

Once again, Dave was lost for words. He had known that he and Mindy had shared a rather unique bond after everything they had been through, one that had steadily built up into a solid friendship over the last four years, but he had never stopped to consider just why she had risked her life like that (without the protection of her Kevlar-layered costume) to save him. Because he had asked her to? Because it had been _her_ name he had cried out as he was being dragged into the van by Chris D'Amico's thugs? Because she was the only one who _could_ save him?

As fucked up as the foundation of their friendship was, it had meant a lot to him. Still did, he was sad to note. They understood each other, like no-one else could; they knew that the costumes they wore were their real identities, that 'Dave Lizewski' and 'Mindy McCready' were, as she had said, their real masks. They understood each other's intense desire to be out there, risking their lives to make a difference in what was, let's face it, a pretty shitty world. Even Todd and Marty, his friends of years past and wannabe superheroes too, couldn't come close.

And now?

Now that rare connection was broken, perhaps forever.

Dave had to admit, he was loathe to let it go.

Yet it was what had to happen right now. Mindy had to leave New York to protect Marcus, to stop him from being implicated in everything that had happened; Dave had to do the same to protect himself. As the face of the costumed vigilantes, as their supposed ringleader, he had to go. 'Wait for the heat to die down', to use Mindy's own words.

How long that would take was anybody's guess.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: First off, thanks to all those who have read (and especially reviewed) this story so far! It's always nice to see mail from FF in my inbox ;)**

**Secondly, somebody pointed out that Chris is, in fact, alive at the end of the second film. I do know this, but am working on the premise that Dave didn't given his comments at the end of the film and the fact that he probably didn't go back down to check (you know, given they all had to bolt from the police). So hopefully that clears up that issue.**

**As always, constructive comments are more than welcome, especially as I know next to nothing about the American college/university system and so may well make some mistakes despite my brief research into the topic.**

**I should add: I don't own Kick Ass or anything to do with it...except the graphic novels, which has to count for something, right? :)**

**3.**

**Ten months later**

'Mr Johnson, did you hear the question?'

Dave (now Mark Johnson, an orphaned eighteen-year-old who had inherited a tidy sum when his parents had sadly passed away in a car accident) sat up straight in his chair and looked around to find twenty expectant faces turned towards him. It took him a few moments to realise what was happening and he cursed himself for spacing out in his seminar class for the fourth time that week.

'Er…no?'

His tutor, a middle-aged semi-professional writer and published author, blinked a few times and shook his head. 'Mr Johnson, if there's something bothering you, perhaps you'd like to take some time out to fix whatever the issue is rather than waste your time with us today?'

Despite the rising pitch at the end which usually indicated a question, Dave sensed that he was not really being offered a choice. He felt the heat rise to his cheeks and neck as twenty pairs of eyes continued to stare at him, waiting for his response. Mumbling a quick apology, he shoved his pen and notepad into his bag and hurried out of the room.

_Goddamn it, what is _wrong_ with me lately?_ he scolded himself as he stalked through the campus corridors, ignoring the sounds of carefree chatter and laughter, the usually enticing scent of freshly ground coffee that issued from the nearby cafeteria. During the past month alone, he had been caught daydreaming more times than he could count on both hands, and it was gaining him a reputation for being a lazy, docile idiot. More than once he had noticed the odd glances and whispered conversations of his fellow freshmen as they settled in for another lecture or group discussion (which he rarely contributed to), and it was beginning to irritate him. A few months ago, he wouldn't have been in this situation at all…

Despite his initial fears, his first eight months at college had been relatively problem free and, unexpectedly, rather enjoyable. After attending a nearby high school for the final month to take his exams, he had graduated and scraped the grades he needed to get into the University of South Carolina to study American Literature (he had liked his English teacher, and figured he might be able to write his own comics one day, rather than pursue his dad's dream of him becoming a fearsome lawyer – after all, the legal system was, as Mindy used to so eloquently put it, too 'fucked up' to compel him to enter into it in any official capacity). For the first few weeks in his new one-bed apartment, he had been wary, always on the watch for suspicious looks from local cops or a leftover thug of the D'Amicos come to exact revenge on him; yet nothing untoward had happened, and he had been able to settle into college life as a freshman reasonably easily. He had made a few new friends, as well as keeping in contact with old ones – his best friend Marty had insisted on going to the same college 'to keep an eye' on him, though Dave knew his real intention: to make sure he still had someone from his old life around to help him settle. It had been weird at first, hearing Marty call him 'Mark' with a grimace on his face (although reverting to Dave when they were alone), but they had coped fine overall, and he was extremely grateful for Marty's companionship. It was at this point Marty had told him he had never really given a shit about going to college, so he may as well follow Dave's choice. His parents, although accepting his decision to come to USC (unaware of Dave's presence there and the reasons for Marty's wish) were adamant that their son stay in dorms so that he could 'experience college life at its best'. They had always been a bit more laidback than Dave's dad where things like that were concerned.

Yet in spite of all this – the relative comfort, the now-familiar surroundings and lifestyle – Dave had found himself becoming increasingly uneasy over the past few weeks. He couldn't put a finger on why. Small things bothered him more than usual: phone calls from unknown numbers which he usually ignored; cold calls when he did finally pick one up; apparently hostile glances he received in the street from people he didn't know. Perhaps it was simply a resurfacing of the old paranoia, brought on by the traumatic experiences of the recent past.

Or maybe, just maybe, there was more to it than that.

This week's topic in his lectures and seminars hadn't helped: 'The Exploration of Unrealised Dreams in Modern American Literature'. The novels had included _The Great Gatsby _and _Of Mice and Men_ amongst others, most of which Dave had skim read the first few chapters and Wiki'd the rest of the plot, key characters and quotations. As he often did, Dave found himself reminiscing about his days as Kick Ass, the fond memories he had with the 'Justice Forever' gang and the numerous lowlife criminals he had helped to keep off the streets, often permanently. Yes, there were plenty of painful ones too, but it hadn't been all bad. For the most part, it had been the best four years of his life…and he couldn't help but admit that a (rather large) part of him missed the excitement and skewed sense of honour that went with it. Before Kick Ass, he had simply been 'Dave Lizewski, comic-book nerd'; now, here in his new environment post-Kick Ass, he was 'Mark Johnson…comic-book nerd and serial daydreamer'. _What an upgrade…_

Unable to stomach going to his last seminar of the day in an hour's time, Dave trudged through the campus corridors – ringing with the sound of happy, relaxed students that only made him feel worse – towards the nearby car park where his red Nissan Micra was waiting for him. He had endured some funny looks about _that_, too, when he had first arrived, but he was grateful to Marcus all the same. If only the cop had known how much Mindy would have criticised it had he ever had the chance to give it to her as a birthday gift…

As Dave swung into the driver's seat and flung his rucksack over to the passenger's side, he felt his phone vibrate in his jeans pocket and pulled it out to find Marty's name flashing back at him: _Dude, you still up for lunch in ten? I can't stay long – got myself a hot date with Kat tonight! _Dave smiled despite his sour mood; Marty had long pined after Katherine Burrows, a petite, red-haired sophomore with a penchant for freshman Arts students. He never thought she would actually agree to go out with his dorky, quick-witted friend, however. Then again, miracles did happen, so they said. He typed back a quick _'Sorry man, something came up. Going home. How about tomorrow?' _before starting the ignition and peeling away from the campus towards his apartment a few miles outside the college grounds.

Mere minutes later (after speeding away at nearly twice the legal limit and managing to avoid being spotted by cops), Dave let himself into his home of the past ten months. Considering his age, and the fact he wasn't technically renting it with his own money (_Thanks, Mindy_), it wasn't a bad place. Yes, the bedroom was pokier than his old one had been, but he at least had his own (broom cupboard of a) bathroom, a small living room replete with a single, moth-eaten two-seater couch and a kitchenette – something Marty moaned about whenever he visited given the communal bathroom and kitchen of the college dorms. Without checking his phone or the small pile of mail on the floor as he usually did when he arrived home, Dave marched into his bedroom and pulled open his wardrobe. Sliding the wooden casing at the back revealed a reasonably-sized secret compartment which housed his once-prized possessions: his original Kick Ass costume, which was neatly piled in the corner alongside his improved 2.0 version, a metallic suit that looked more like Iron Man's kid brother, but which he had never had the opportunity to try out in public. He had ordered it before the shit had hit the fan with Chris D'Amico, and it had taken weeks to arrive given its complex specifications. Once everything had gone down in the warehouse, however, he couldn't risk wearing it outside. Yet he had been unable to give up on the costumes for good despite promising himself he would never be Kick Ass again, not after what it had meant for his dad. He couldn't betray that promise (well, not a second time); he couldn't risk himself again after his dad had paid the ultimate price to keep him safe.

More and more recently, though, in the safety of his own home, he would don the costume once again and simply stare at his reflection in the mirror. He knew Mindy would like it – hell, she would probably be insanely jealous at how _fucking awesome_ it was. Who needed Kevlar when you had grade-A metal covering your ass?

But that was all he did: look in the mirror and imagine what he could get up to in such a badass costume. That was the extent of his fantasy, a way of keeping Kick Ass alive in his mind, if not in reality. Today, though, he didn't bother taking it out; he didn't think he could bear the temptation. Instead, he closed the wardrobe with a heavy sigh and padded back out into the living room to listen to his new phone messages evidenced by the flashing LED on his answer machine. The first was from Marcus, telling him he had finally managed to sell his father's house for him after a boring, drawn-out legal battle (the state, after all, considered Dave a fugitive from justice); in order to action his plan, he had become Dave's guardian, citing his 'long (and totally bullshit) friendship' with Dave's dad. Dave wasn't sure how he had managed it, although he had an sneaking suspicion that Marcus had friends in many different state departments he could lean on for 'favours'.

The news that his family's house had finally been sold filled him with little joy. Sure, it gave him some extra cash that Marcus could wire into his 'Mark Johnson' account, but with its sale went all of his childhood memories, both good and bad. He had spent his entire life in that house, in that neighbourhood, until moving to South Carolina last year, and now…well, there was no capturing the past.

Trying not to dwell on the implications of Marcus's message, Dave hit delete and listened to the next one; to his surprise, it was also from Marcus: 'Dave, you, er…might want to check the news when you get this. Just…well, you'll see.' The obvious uncertainty and concern in Marcus's voice filled Dave with a fear he had not felt since the first few weeks of his life at college, when the paranoia had been at its highest. A faint, almost imperceptible tremble shook his hand as he picked up the TV remote and flicked it on.

'Our stop story tonight,' the anchor woman was conveniently saying in clipped, professional tones, 'is that the head of the D'Amico Mafioso, Ralph 'The Razor' D'Amico, was let out of prison earlier today. It is reported that he has been released on parole early for 'good behaviour', having served only seven years of his fifteen year sentence. Despite the furore surrounding his discharge, the state has so far declined to comment. The question on everyone's lips is: what will happen to the D'Amico family now?'

Dave collapsed onto the couch, staring at the thin, gaunt face of a man he had every right to be terrified of. Ralph D'Amico, brother of the late Frank D'Amico (whom Dave had blown up with a bazooka), uncle of the late Chris D'Amico (whom Dave had let drop to his death to be eaten alive by a ravenous shark) and supposedly the most brutal motherfucker in the entire D'Amico mob.

_Shit, shit, shit, _was all Dave's brain could scream at him as he drowned out the news reporter's words and focused instead on the scowling face taking up the entire TV screen. It was one he wasn't going to forget any time soon.

'Mr D'Amico!' Dave vaguely heard one of the reporters shouting. 'Mr D'Amico, what will you do now that your brother and his entire family are dead? Will you take over the running of the family businesses? Do you really believe that Kick Ass and his friends were responsible for murdering them?'

Dave felt his heart thump painfully in his chest at the mention of his alter-ego; he had assumed Kick Ass was long since forgotten in the city of New York. Unfortunately for him, it seemed not.

'Don't you mention that name to me,' Ralph 'The Razor' spat into the camera. 'If I ever see that kid in this city again, he better start praying for a goddamn miracle. And that goes for all you costume-wearing' – here the TV station censored the word, although Dave could lip read well enough to work out the word 'assholes' – 'if you're thinking about messing with _my _family again, you best reconsider if you value your lives and those of the ones you hold dear.'

After that the anchor woman reappeared and moved onto the next story (something about high school exam fixing), but Dave had zoned out once more. As far as he had known, Ralph D'Amico was going to be in prison for a very long time after copping to drugs and murder – it was this fact that had kept him safe from Big Daddy's original vengeful spree nearly five years previous. He was meant to be lying low, keeping the family safe from any more scandals, but this? Something had clearly riled him to the point of hate-filled violence.

Dave didn't need two guesses to work out just who and what that was.

For the third time in his short life, he was being targeted by the sociopathic murderers and mob men that were the D'Amico Mafioso.


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: Just a warning that this chapter is pretty long. I was going to break it down into two, but decided not to. Hopefully you'll see why.  
**

**Oh, and I've realised that I've got a few details from the film wrong along the way (forgive me, I've only seen it once a couple of weeks ago and have been trying to plan lessons/read lots in the intervening weeks! Oops) but without rewriting the whole of the beginning, I can't really work around that. So, for the purposes of this story, we'll have to pretend that Dave didn't decide to stay and fight crime in NYC. Obviously. Hopefully it'll still work. :)****  
**

**Anyway, enough from me. I hope you enjoy it and don't think I'm moving too fast, or too slowly for that matter! Let me know.**

**4.**

Dave took several deep breaths, repeated the age-old 'keep calm' mantra to himself, and tried to process what this all meant for him. Did it really affect him as much as he had at first thought? Ralph D'Amico hadn't actually said he was planning on taking revenge against Kick Ass and the Justice Forever gang; then again, would he really admit that on live television? He had only warned them not to come after his family again, which Dave wasn't planning on doing any time soon. At least, not until 'the heat had died down'…

Still, the look in D'Amico's eyes as he had spat his words into the camera wasn't one he was likely to forget. His mind made up, he picked up his phone and punched in a number he had only used a few times in the previous ten months. A man's cautious, deep voice greeted him within two seconds.

'I take it you got my message,' Marcus said without stopping to offer any niceties, as was his way.

'Yeah.' Dave breathed. 'But…I don't have to be too worried about it, right? I mean, it's not like he said he was going to start a vendetta against Kick Ass or anything.'

'No,' Marcus agreed slowly. 'But you still need to be wary. The D'Amicos might be small-time on the grand scale of things, but they still have a lot of pull in New York. I wouldn't put it past him to send out a message like that in order to start consolidating his power now he's head of the family by default. They still have some nasty shit going on that the PD can't shut down.'

'Or won't,' Dave added softly.

'Mm.' There was a pregnant pause on the line as Marcus quite noticeably didn't refute the claim; if Gigante was still in charge of the force...'Well, anyway, just – '

A series of loud, hurried knocks on Dave's door cut Marcus short. His heart pounding just a little faster in his chest, Dave wrapped his hand around the knob…and opened it more slowly than he had ever opened a door in his life. It creaked about six inches before the chain reached its limit and Dave was left to peer through the opening.

'Marty?'

'Have you seen the news, man?' his friend said as he tried, and failed, to push the door open. 'What the fuck, Dave? Open the door and let me in!'

'Dave? Who the hell is that? Who knows your real name?' Dave heard Marcus's curt questions close to his ear as he pulled the chain off the latch and opened the door properly.

'It's just Marty, my best friend from back home. He goes to the same college as me. Didn't I tell you that?'

A beat. Marty mouthed 'Who are you talking to?', but Dave wafted at him with his free hand as though he were an annoying fly.

'No, you didn't,' came Marcus's soft, disapproving reply. He heaved an audible sigh – something he seemed to do a lot whenever he spoke to Dave. 'Look, I know why you must have wanted your friend there with you, but I really don't think it's wise for someone to be calling you by your real name.'

'It's all right, he only uses it when we're alone.'

'And what happens when – and I mean _when _– he slips up? You don't know who might be listening.'

Dave couldn't argue with his logic – he was a cop, after all – but he also didn't want to stop Marty from using his given name. It was, he felt, the last link to a life he had once had. If he gave up that slither…what was left?

'Okay, I can see I'm not going to change your mind,' Marcus muttered. 'Just do me a favour – be careful, okay? I don't think D'Amico will do anything, but I can't make promises. I'll be in touch as soon as I hear anything.'

Dave barely had a chance to say 'Thanks' before the line went dead, abrupt as always. When he finally put the phone back down, it was Marty's turn to start in with the questions.

'So, did you – '

'Of course I did, genius,' Dave interrupted him. 'It's big enough to reach down here too, it seems.'

'Well, we're not all that far from the big city, and the D'Amicos are pretty infamous on the East coast,' Marty reasoned as he slumped down onto Dave's worn couch. 'No surprise the local news are airing the story. Besides, Kick Ass is a fucking legend all the way to Boston, didn't you know?'

Usually, Dave would have smiled at Marty's silly crack, but tonight he wasn't in the mood. What he wanted, he realised, was to be left alone to think things through.

_No, what you really want is to have that safety back again, _a small voice in his head countered. _And there's only one way you could get that…_

He rolled his eyes at himself, ignored the look Marty gave him because of this, and went to fetch two glasses of water from the kitchen. His friend graciously avoided making his disgust too evident at the beverage on offer; he knew that, despite Dave's insistence on not being Kick Ass again, he was still keeping in shape in the campus gym 'just because'. Pumping iron was nothing without a healthy diet, although Marty maintained he couldn't see what the problem was with the odd sneaky beer bribed from seniors.

'So, what are you thinking?' Marty asked after a tentative sip at the water. 'Kung fu their asses and put an end to their evil regime once and for all?'

Dave shook his head humourlessly. 'I'm staying out of it. If they don't come for me, I won't go for them. I'm not going through all that again, not after…'

'Yeah, I hear you,' Marty agreed, knowing what Dave had been about to say. 'Still, there are days when I miss the old gang, you know? I mean, I wasn't you or, Jesus, Hit Girl, but still.'

The mention of Mindy's name drew a small sigh from Dave; what he wouldn't give to know she had his back right then, to know that she had formulated an infallible plan to take back the streets once and for all. The truth was, without her within a phone call's reach left him feeling rather vulnerable despite Marcus's assurances otherwise.

'I know we had to end it; I accept that,' Marty was saying, either oblivious to, or deliberately failing to notice, Dave's reluctance to speak about the topic. 'But man, we had some fun times. Actually taking on criminals and 'kapow'ing their asses…good times, dude. Good times.'

When Dave didn't respond for a second time to his aimless rambling, Marty apparently sensed it was time to stop. He set his glass on the side table next to the phone and stood up, looking down at his friend with an inscrutable expression on his still-chubby face.

'Anyway, I just wanted to make sure you were, you know, cool. I'm sure you've got a ton of reading to do for your seminars or whatever, so I'll just…leave you to it.'

If Dave had been concentrating a bit harder, he would have been surprised at Marty's unusual tact. It wasn't until later that he realised his friend had ditched his dream date to come rushing around to his house for a check-up – that made him feel pretty shitty when he found out.

'Yeah,' was Dave's half-hearted response. 'I'll, er…call you soon.'

'Sure, man. See you later.'

With a fleeting look at his friend that Dave missed, Marty let himself out, leaving Dave to frown at the stained faeces-brown carpet alone.

**xoxo**

For the next few days, Dave became a practising recluse. He didn't bother going to any of his lectures or seminars that week, simply phoning in to say he had a bug and would be in when it had gone. The lady on the phone said she would let his tutors know, and that was that. Instead of reading the ever-increasing pile of novels and critical essays he had to study, Dave chose to alternate between two main activities: watching the news obsessively for any new developments in the D'Amico story, and pumping iron with the set of dumbbells he had bought himself at the start of his college year. He sprinkled in some sit-ups and push-ups for good measure, usually whilst the TV was on in the background so that he could catch any mention of D'Amico's name.

It wasn't until four days into his self-imposed hermit existence that something piqued his interest – and concern.

Scanning the NYC news on his smart phone (because local television had revealed nothing new) turned up a worrying report: in the early hours of the previous morning, John Baxter (a.k.a. 'Surf Dude' – they had all told him it was a ridiculous name – a late addition to the Justice Forever movement) had been found dead outside his home in Queens. The news reported that the police suspected a 'mugging gone wrong' judging by the absence of his wallet and phone, but Dave knew better. Paranoia or no, this had to be related. He glared at the tiny screen as though it were the thing currently offending him, greedily swallowing each minute detail of the story carefully. There was nothing in there that would suggest the police were wrong…other than his gut instinct.

It was like Chris D'Amico's 'Motherfucker' rampage all over again, only more subtle this time. Ralph, clearly, was much more intelligent than his douchebag of a nephew. Convinced that his theory was right, Dave sent a quick message to Marcus relaying his ideas. When the reply came back (_Looks like a genuine mugging. Can't prove otherwise. Will keep you posted._), it did nothing to assuage his doubts.

Evening on the fifth day of his enclosed vigil rolled around, bringing with it a lack of food in both the fridge-freezer and the cupboards. His stomach growling at him furiously, Dave considered ordering takeaway, but had been careful not to give his address out to anyone (except Marty, of course) and didn't want to drop the habit now. It was vital that his vigilance was maintained, particularly given the state of affairs as they were.

So, after throwing on a pair of jeans and his USC hoody, Dave made his fortnightly run to the nearby supermarket for groceries. He picked up the usual – fruit, veg, fish, red meat, fresh juice – and threw them into the trolley as fast as he could. Ignoring the things that he often took notice of – the pleasantly cool air around the fridge and freezer sections; the smell of fresh meat and fish at the deli counters; the feel of the soft, warm bread beneath his fingers as he grabbed it off the bakery stand; the stunning, white-teethed smile of the checkout girl who always made a point of helping him pack – Dave completed his run in a record time of twelve and a half minutes and was on his way home with one thought in his head: get the news on.

As he parked his car in its usual spot outside his dingy apartment, Dave once again felt his phone vibrate in his baggy jeans pockets. He was going to ignore it until he got inside, but curiosity got the better of him. What if it was Marcus, informing him of new developments in the supposed 'mugging'? Whipping it out, he stared down at the screen, bright in the summer twilight: a text message from 'Unknown Number'. He had never received a call or message from an unknown number in the ten months he had had the phone; he bit his bottom lip as he opened the message.

_Guess who?_

Those two words were enough to send a cold shiver crawling down his spine. The faint tremble that had started in his hand was now working its way down to his knees as he quickly looked up at the windows of his home. No light, no signs that anyone was there, yet still…

Leaving the groceries on the passenger seat, Dave picked up the heaviest thing he could find in his car (his unread copy of _Ulysses _by James Joyce as his batons were in the house) and approached his front door warily. As quietly as he could, he slipped the key into the front door and turned it, pushing the door open so that it creaked softly on its hinges. No lights on. No obvious movements that he could see in the dim light shining through the gap in the door. Yet there was an unfamiliar aroma that hung in the air, one that he couldn't quite place.

Gripping the book in one hand, he jammed his fist onto the light switch next to the door and took two more steps into the apartment.

'Mark Johnson? That's the best he could come up with?'

Dave stopped dead in his determined tracks and stared at the intruder currently lounging on his tatty couch, seemingly without a care in the world.

'You know, your mouth hanging open like that makes you look a bit 'special'. No offence,' the slim blonde continued in apparent earnest.

Dave blinked once, twice, and a third time before finally finding his voice. 'I don't see you for nearly a year, and _that's_ what you have to say to me? Seriously?'

'Oh, put your tampon in Dave.' Mindy huffed, dismissing his questions with a quick wave of her hand. 'But really, Mark Johnson?'

'I could have knocked you out!' Dave cried, ignoring her attempts at humour. 'I thought one of D'Amico's goons had busted into my apartment.'

Mindy eyed the book in his hand with obvious disdain. 'Really? You think you could have knocked me out with _that_?'

Dave threw the offending article onto the end table and slumped down next to her. 'Well, no, not _you_, obviously.' He turned to look at her, studying her face with its half smile, piercing green eyes and golden hair; he was torn between two responses, but finally settled on: 'What are you _doing _here?'

Apparently, that was the wrong response. Mindy surprised him by pushing herself to her feet and throwing her hands in the air, clearly unhappy with the question; her black biker's leathers squeaked faintly as she did so.

'Well, it's good to see you too!' she muttered, annoyed.

'No, I didn't mean that…' Dave said softly, trying to placate her before she blew up – something Mindy was prone to doing from what he remembered of their wild escapades in months past. 'Obviously I'm glad to see you. I just can't believe you're finally here, for real.'

As though to prove his point, he held out his arms towards her. After briefly narrowing her eyes at him, Mindy relented and accepted the hug with a friendly warmth he had missed over the past ten months. They stood like that for some time, neither one in any hurry to break the contact.

Finally, Mindy pulled away from him and nodded at the discarded novel. 'You know, you could at least have brought a Bible and given some meaning to the phrase 'Bible Basher'.'

Dave, used to Mindy's lack of political correctness, simply grinned. 'I'll bear that in mind,' he promised. 'Drink?' Mindy nodded her approval and accepted the glass of water he gave her a minute later. 'Sorry, I left the juice in the car when I thought…well, anyway…'

'Nice place,' Mindy said, cocking her eyebrow as she eyed the peeling paint on the skirting boards, the holes in the faded green couch, and the obvious signs of mould in the corners of the ceiling. 'Two hundred big ones couldn't get you a better one, huh?'

Dave focused on his water instead of her mocking expression. 'Marcus chose it…said he thought a nicer place would raise more suspicions.' Mindy seemed to accept that explanation, but was still careful not to sit too far back on the couch. 'So…'

He really didn't want to have to repeat the one question he wanted an answer to and send Mindy into a hissy fit again, but he had a right to know, didn't he? After ten months of no contact, here she was. Why? _How_?

'Can't I check up on an old friend?' Mindy said surreptitiously, clearly understanding Dave's unspoken thoughts. Dave's expression must have told her he didn't buy that excuse for a second. 'Okay, fine. I saw the news and thought you might do something…well, Dave-like.'

_Dave-like?_ What the hell did _that _mean? He felt as though he should be offended by it.

'You know, rush off back to New York, confront the newest scumbag head of the D'Amico family, try to be a hero all on your own. Typical Dave behaviour,' she finished with a shrug.

Dave resented the sarcastic tone of voice coupled with her words, but couldn't deny that she had a point. He _wasn't_ planning on doing those things, but he couldn't say he hadn't thought about it, either. Especially given the news that evening about a member of the Justice Forever gang.

'Actually, I was planning on staying right here,' he countered defiantly. 'As long as they don't come after me, I won't do anything.'

The disbelieving look was back on Mindy's face, telling him she knew him better than that. Indeed, there was _no-one_ who knew him as well as she did. Not even his ex-girlfriend, Katie Deuxma - although she knew plenty of _other_ things about him that Mindy couldn't...

'Oh, really? So you haven't thought about putting on your costume again and kicking those fucktards to the curb?'

'I didn't say that,' Dave admitted. 'But I'm not a total idiot. I've been safe for the past ten months and I'm not going to risk that unless I really have to. Not alone.'

He wondered whether she had caught the implication in his final two words; if she did, she didn't show it. They sat for a couple of minutes without speaking, Mindy apparently weighing up his words as he sipped his water. She was probably trying to work out whether to believe him, he decided – the fact she might consider he would lie to her stung him a little bit, he was surprised to note. During the amiable silence, Dave took the opportunity to look at her a little more closely over the top of his glass. In essentials, she hadn't changed much in the intervening months: she was still slim, obviously in great shape with the same wavy, golden hair that cascaded down her back and shone brightly against the black leather jacket she wore. He thought she was a couple of inches taller than she had been when he had last seen her; when they had hugged, he noticed that she was now level with his chin. Besides that, she was the same beautiful, quick-witted girl he had spent many hours training and taking down New York City's lowlife criminals with. The slight increase in heart rate and thin layer of sweat on his palms told him just how glad he was to see her after all this time.

'How did you find me?' he asked after deciding she had had long enough to tell him he was talking bullshit, if that was what she was thinking. 'Marcus?'

'Of course,' she replied quickly. 'How else?'

'Oh, I don't know. Knowing you, you could have hacked my phone, maybe planted a tracker in my skull and used GPS to follow me. You know, all those normal things you get up to.'

She laughed at that. 'Sometimes the boring way's the simplest.'

'Did you speak to him?'

'Yes. He was surprised to hear from me, too.' She sounded somewhat upset at that, although Dave couldn't figure out why; she had left Marcus with nothing but a note before disappearing from his life, after all. 'But he accepted why I did it. Turns out I was right to. Fucking cops swarmed the house hours after I got out of town, apparently.'

Dave was about to respond when his stomach gave an almighty grumble that cut him short. He couldn't stop the faint blush that coloured his cheeks as Mindy shot him an amused look.

'Hungry, are we?' she smirked.

'Starving,' Dave admitted. 'Hang on, I've got stuff in the car. I'll cook us up something to eat.'

He jumped to his feet and was about to hurry out of the front door when he felt Mindy's small hand grip his sleeve and pull him back.

'Dave, I'm…I'm not staying,' she told him in a small voice that he was unaccustomed to hearing.

'What?' he blurted, spinning around to face her. 'But you only just got here!'

'I just wanted to check in on you, make sure you were okay. I needed to know you weren't going to do anything stupid. If you were, I was here to bitch-slap some sense into you. That's...all.'

This time she didn't offer a sardonic quip as his mouth fell open for a second time. 'What?' he repeated stupidly. 'That's it? Ten months, and you stay for fifteen minutes?'

Mindy had the grace to look slightly abashed at the obvious hurt and shock in his words and on his face. 'I can't risk it. I know we're not in New York, but if the cops find me…'

'Come on, Mindy,' Dave said impatiently. 'How will they? Out here, in a dingy apartment in South Carolina.' When she looked unmoved, Dave tried a different tactic. 'Okay, well…can you stay just _one_ night? We'll have something to eat, and then I can show you some awesome things before you go first thing tomorrow morning. At least give me that.'

Eight painful seconds (Dave counted) crept by as Mindy considered his offer. He could practically see the struggle on her face as she weighed up the options; it was the same expression she had worn when he had tried to convince her that Hit Girl was who she really was, and not to abandon her crime-fighting alter-ego. He had a vague sense that his insistence might do more harm than good, but selfishly pushed it out of his mind.

Finally, she nodded silently and dropped back onto the couch. His heart soaring, Dave hurried out to the car to bring in the abandoned shopping. He was going to make her favourite: battered fish, boiled potatoes and garden peas with a healthy dollop of tomato sauce. If that couldn't make her stay, nothing would.


	5. Chapter 5

**5.**

An hour later, having wolfed down Dave's (actually pretty good) fish and potatoes dinner, Mindy let out a contented sigh. The lack of any remnants on her plate whatsoever told Dave she was satisfied with his offering; it pleased him to know his self-catering efforts over the past ten months had paid off in some small way. When she peered at the kitchen counter, apparently looking for something, Dave answered her unspoken thoughts.

'No dishwasher,' he said, shaking his head. 'All manual labour, I'm afraid.' It was yet another thing to add to Mindy's 'This apartment sucks ass' list, judging by the disapproving look she shot him. 'Hey, no luxuries, remember? Besides, anything to help keep me in shape!'

He thought she might smile at the lame joke, but was instead surprised to see her give his physique a once-over; it was quick, furtive, but he caught it nevertheless.

'So you're still training?' she asked, dragging her gaze back up to his.

'Yeah, of course. I mean, I might not be Kick Ass now, but I don't exactly want to go back to being the guy who can't put up a fight against shithead muggers.'

Mindy's looked like she wanted to say something along the lines of 'Uh huh, yeah, right', but refrained. Dave took the opportunity in her momentary silence to change the subject, albeit it ever so slightly.

'Speaking of which,' he began, getting to his feet and dragging Mindy to hers, 'follow me.'

He wondered whether his excitement was as palpable as it felt; he could barely contain himself as he led her into his bedroom and stopped in front of the wardrobe. Ignoring the appraising sweep Mindy's eyes gave his double bed (which took up most of the room), padlocked window and mustard-coloured carpet, Dave pulled the wooden door open. A grin split his face as he waited.

'I see you're still leading the 'Dorks 'R' Us' fashion line,' was Mindy's (lovingly) mocking response. Dave stuck his head into the small opening, and nearing slapped his own head when he realised he had closed the secret compartment. 'What exactly am I supposed to be looking at?'

'Wait just a sec.' He reached in and slid the thin wooden slat aside, then decided to go all the way and pull the surprise all the way out. 'This.'

Once each section of his Kick Ass 2.0 costume was neatly laid out on his bed (he hurriedly tried to smooth the bed sheets and brush away the bread crumbs from an earlier sandwich), he simply waited. The sight of Mindy's eyes lighting up, the awe and – dare he say it – envy that he saw there, were enough to make his jaw hurt as he beamed.

'Dude, that fucking _rocks_,' Mindy breathed, running her hand over the smooth metal outer casing. She turned it over and checked the inside, too. 'It's like…real-life Iron Man or some shit.'

'I know!' Dave laughed.

'When did you get it?'

'I had it on order before all the crap with Chris D'Amico, but it took ages to arrive. I just…wasn't able to use it in the end.'

'How the hell did you afford it?'

From anyone else, this question might have come across as rude, disrespectful, tactless; from Mindy, however, it was merely logical. Curious. Dave hesitated long enough for Mindy to look at him expectantly.

'Well,' he mumbled, 'you know…I didn't use that ridiculous Christmas gift of yours, so…'

The 'gift' in question was five thousand dollars in cash Mindy had insisted he accept 'just in case'. She never elaborated on that last part. Ever.

'Smart move,' Mindy said, nodding her approval. 'A worthy investment.'

She continued to examine every aspect of the costume, turning it over and over, prodding and poking it, scrutinising it for any potential flaws (at least, that was what Dave assumed she was doing, knowing her perfectionist attitude). Eventually, she put it down and turned to face him once more, a quizzical expression settling on her smooth features. Dave wondered, as he often did with Mindy, what was coming next.

'It's awesome, no doubt, and means you'll look much less 'amateur dickhead'-ish,' she said bluntly, 'but where's the inner protection?'

'What?'

'You know, the layer of Kevlar inside. The bit that will protect you from the inevitable hail of deathly bullets.' She paused, realisation dawning on her as his brow creased into a deep frown. 'Don't tell me you thought this puny layer of metal was enough?'

Dave felt his cheeks begin to heat up under her interrogatory gaze. 'Well,' he stammered, looking down at the costume again, 'they didn't say…on the site…ah, shit. See, this is why I need you around…'

This time he did slap his forehead to emphasise his embarrassment. More research, less nerdy, excitement-fuelled impulse buying next time…

'Don't worry, it won't be hard to fix,' Mindy was saying, her tone very business-like all of a sudden. 'Shouldn't take more than a week or so to send it off and add it in.'

Dave frowned. Why was she so interested in 'fixing' something he had no intention of actually using? Was it simply her own enthusiasm, her own nostalgia getting the better of her?

'But…why?' was all he asked.

It was Mindy's turn to look confused. 'Why what?'

'Why should I send it off to improve it? What's the point?'

The question seemed to momentarily throw Mindy off guard, and she appeared to grasp for the right words to say. 'Well…why not? I mean, you don't know what might happen in the future. In a few years…who knows?'

It was a lame reply, and she knew it. She merely shrugged and pointed out that a complete costume was better than an incomplete one, even just as a collector's item. _Yeah, right._ She was usually much better at lying than he was. _Not tonight, it seems._

'Anyway, enough of that,' she said shortly, marching back out into the living room. When she turned back to look at him in the doorway, Dave could see her green eyes twinkling with a mischievous glint he knew all too well. 'So you say you're still training, huh?'

**xoxo**

There was no two ways about it: Mindy liked seeing Dave squirm. For four years, it had been her favourite hobby (besides beating the shit out of junkie crack heads and would-be muggers, of course). The look of panic that routinely sprung into place, the disappearing act of his eyebrows into his mass of curls as she would gleefully tell him of her plans to castrate the steroid-fuelled dick of a football player for looking at her 'funny', or how she would get her own back on Mr Thompson by setting up a candid camera filming him jerking off to _Lolita_ – it never failed to amuse her.

After ten months of separation, it seemed she could still pull it off with relative ease. One simple (and repeated) instruction – 'Hit me, dumbass' – was once again enough to immobilise him.

'What?'

'Dave, seriously? How many times have we done this before?' She heaved an exaggerated sigh and shook her head. 'Still not got over your pussy fear of hitting girls?'

'But…well, we're not in your apartment. You know, that was all set up for stuff like that. This' – he gestured to the cramped living room, with barely three feet separating the couch from the kitchen counters – 'is not exactly ideal.'

Mindy acted like she hadn't heard him. Whilst he stood mouthing like a fish out of water, she stripped off her biker boots and flung them onto the couch with her leather jacket, then bent down to unzip the overnight bag she had retrieved earlier from the back of her motorcycle hidden outside (no longer the purple Hit Girl accompaniment, but a plain, midnight-blue Honda that was far more inconspicuous and suited to her current situation). Without pausing to consider Dave's thoughts (or rather, only briefly considering them), she began to unzip her leather pants with the intention of changing into something more appropriate.

'Mindy, what the – fuck?' Dave stuttered, waving his hands at her. 'What – are you _doing_?'

'What does it look like?' Mindy retorted, rolling her eyes as she pulled the pants off in one swift movement. She grinned as Dave hastily swung around to face the wall. 'I can't exactly roundhouse you in biker leathers, can I? Well, I probably _could_, but this is much more comfortable.'

'Can we just…talk about this…for a minute?' Dave muttered at the peeling paint in front of him, his voice sounding shriller with each successive word.

'Sorry, I'm all pumped up and raring to go. Got to work out this energy somehow.'

After another ten seconds of incoherent mumbling, Dave turned around to find her pushing the couch against the wall, making as much space as possible for the sparring match she so evidently desired. The determined, even gleeful gleam in her eyes must have told him he wasn't going to win; with a resigned huff, he pulled off his sweater and wandered back into his bedroom to find a pair of shorts.

'Don't be modest on my account!' Mindy called after him cheerfully.

Cue more embarrassed mumbling that she couldn't make out, but relished nevertheless. _God, he's such a fucking easy target,_ she thought with a fond smile. She had missed this: her teasing him, his stammering and blushing reactions to her in-your-face, no-nonsense social skills. More than she had realised…and would ever admit aloud.

She began to stretch her muscles whilst she waited for him to return, ensuring they were warmed up and wouldn't scream at her and revolt the second she tried to swing a punch. A minute later Dave returned, appearing just as nervous as before.

'What were you doing, putting a ball cup in or something?' Mindy joked. The quick, worried glance Dave gave his groin area made her grin even more widely. 'Really? Wow Dave, I wasn't going to aim for _that _area – I still want you to be able to have kids some day!'

Her words confused her as much as Dave, as evidenced by both of their frowns, so she brushed them aside and pretended they had never left her lips. Perhaps he was thinking of the first time they had sparred together more than a year ago, when she _had _kneed him in the balls and left him crying on the deck. _She _certainly was now…

'Mindy, I still don't think – '

But she didn't get to hear what he thought. Before he could finish his protest, Mindy swung her hand through the air, palm flat and facing his cheek. Intending to leave a vivid red handprint on his face, she was instead surprised to find her wrist gripped firmly in his right hand.

'Learning, are we?' she said softly, a smirk on her lips.

'I've been bitch-slapped enough by you to know when to expect it,' Dave deadpanned.

'Good. Then let's see how you deal with _this_.'

**xoxo**

Forty minutes later Dave collapsed onto the couch, his hair slick with sweat and matted to his scalp. He had his hands resting on his head and was taking long, gulping breaths in between short bursts of inexplicable laughter.

'So…how'd I do?' he panted as Mindy dropped next to him, looking much more composed than him, yet still (he was pleased to note) worked over.

'Not bad,' Mindy replied, her tone expressing more admiration than her words did. 'You've kept up your muscle definition and stamina well. Your technique's a little rusty, but that's to be expected when you haven't been sparring for so long.'

'Does that apply to you as well then?' he grinned.

'Of course,' Mindy shrugged. 'Just not so drastically as I've been doing it much longer than you.'

Dave thought that sounded fair. It was probably as good as he could have hoped for given he had only been training himself, without her professional tips and encouragement along the way. If only she would stay longer, help him get his sharpness back for…well, for the sake of it. It seemed there wasn't much chance of that, though; she had been adamant that she was leaving the next day, and he couldn't think of a plausible way to change her mind.

They lapsed into a comfortable silence for a few minutes, Dave willing his heart rate down to a resting level, and Mindy getting up to glance through the blinds to the street outside. What she was looking for, Dave wasn't sure, but he knew enough about her vigilance to know it was probably 'just in case'. _That phrase again._ When she sat back down, she threw him some questions which – surprise, surprise – caught him completely off guard.

'So, what's new, Dave? Besides the state and crummy apartment, that is. Friends? Girlfriend?'

'Er…' was his pathetic response. 'No? I mean…friends, yeah. Marty's here, some new people I don't see all that often. It's just not the same, you know? I feel like an idiot when I don't respond to 'Mark' straight away, so I try to avoid it.'

Despite the silly smile on his face, he was being completely serious; after the first few odd looks from people trying to catch his attention by shouting 'Mark' at him in the corridors, he had simply cut contact down with any new acquaintances. He rarely saw them outside of lectures or seminars now, instead preferring to spend most of his free time with his bonehead best friend from kindergarten.

Given that this was, in his mind, a perfectly simple and innocent explanation, Dave was alarmed to find Mindy looking at him with ever-so-slightly narrowed eyes, as though he had said something wrong. Had he? He replayed his words but was unable to find anything in them that could justify her dour expression.

'So you never got back with Katie then?' she asked coolly. 'I thought you might once you stopped being Kick Ass.'

'We might have done' – he couldn't exactly say that with any certainty given Kick Ass wasn't really the reason they had broken up in the first place – 'but she went to Harvard to study Medicine. She wants to be a doctor.'

Dave thought he caught a muttered 'obviously' and 'perfect' in Mindy's hushed response, but he couldn't be sure; he decided not to ask her to elaborate given the suddenly sour look on her face.

'I never understood why you broke up to begin with,' she said, suddenly bright again. 'It was because of Kick Ass, wasn't it? I mean, she didn't really like you going out and dicking the junkies and gangsters over.'

'Er, yeah, something like that.'

Dave busied himself with getting them both another drink rather than allow her to see his expression, which would reveal his blatant lie. He had never told Mindy what Katie had said (screamed, really) in the school corridor that day; he wanted to forget it himself. The rumours that had flown around school after that had earned him many a snigger and disgusted look from his fellow students (and even some of the teachers) in the weeks after. Of course, the 'Chinese whispers' nature of school rumours didn't exactly help matters – especially the one that accused him of being the 'gay dude that knocked up a preteen'. Yes, Marty and Todd had particularly enjoyed _that _one. Dave was surprised Mindy hadn't picked up on them, come to think of it…

'Oh, well, I suppose it was for the best in the end given she's further away now,' Mindy offered. 'That probably would have been harder to deal with.'

'Yeah, probably,' he said as he sat back down and handed her another helping of fruit juice.

Another couple of minutes of silence whilst they sipped their drinks, and then: 'How's college?'

Dave was glad for an innocuous question and leapt on it readily. 'Not bad. I mean, it's okay. My tutors think I'm a brain-dead imbecile now, but other than that.'

'Nothing new there then,' Mindy quipped with a smirk. 'But seriously, why would they think that? Are you slacking?' His silence, as ever, revealed all. 'Dave…'

'It's not exactly easy, reading two or three novels a week,' Dave grumbled. 'And all the boring critical essays. Besides, they knew what they were getting with my test scores.'

Mindy rolled her eyes, but let the subject drop…sort of. 'Just make sure you give it your best. The last thing you need is to be kicked out for failing.'

'They think I'm off sick at the moment, so it's all right.'

'Sick?'

'Yeah, I told them I had a bug. I wanted to stay in for a few days to…check things out.'

His vagueness did nothing to throw Mindy off the scent. Of course, he knew it wouldn't – she was much too observant for that – but it was worth a shot.

'You need to forget about that douchebag D'Amico,' she cautioned him sternly. 'What he said on the news – it was only a threat if you, or anyone else, decide to take them on again. Which you won't, so it's cool.'

'The fact he can get away with saying stuff like that on TV, though…'

'That surprises you?' Mindy scoffed. 'The D'Amicos have been getting away with all kinds of bullshit for years. The cops are either too corrupt or too incompetent to deal with them. That's why Daddy and me…well, someone needed to do something. But that's over now,' she added with another pointed look at him. 'I know how you feel, but as long as you're not a threat to him directly, I don't think he'll pull all the strings to find some costumed teenaged punk who's not even in the city any more. I don't get the feeling he cared all that much about his family to actually take revenge.'

'Marcus said he might want to send out a message, though,' Dave countered. 'You know, to show people they shouldn't fuck with him. That wouldn't be revenge, exactly.'

Mindy didn't reply, only shrugged and finished the last dribbles of juice in her glass. When she stood up and grabbed her overnight bag, Dave had a fleeting moment of panic, thinking she was going to leave there and then. Her next words, however, calmed his irrational fears.

'I'm beat,' she sighed, stretching out her free arm. 'I take it you don't have a free bed?' she added, her eyebrow cocked curiously.

'I'll take the couch,' Dave offered gallantly; Mindy looked relieved. 'And don't worry, the sheets are clean.'

He could tell what was running through her mind without her even voicing such a concern; her quick glance at his ruffled bed linen told her he had been right.

'If you say so, dude,' she smiled. 'Anyway, 'night then.'

'I'll see you in the morning?'

Dave was surprised to hear it come out sounding like a question; it was meant to be a clichéd statement, after all. He caught the sad, almost wistful look Mindy gave him as she nodded, before she disappeared into his bedroom and closed the door.

**A/N: Hmm, I'm not too sure about this (again, quite long) chapter. Every so often one will come around that I'm not very happy with, but don't know how/have the time to improve the way I want. So rather than let it gather dust, I'll offer it up as it is. It doesn't really move the plot along, but the next few should if they go according to plan.**

**Anyway, as always, comments and criticisms greatly received. I've taken some on board already and am working towards addressing minor issues here and there that may crop up. :)**


	6. Chapter 6

**6.**

Hundreds of miles away in a plush New York penthouse not too dissimilar to his late brother Frank's (before it was shot to pieces, part-blown up and smeared with the bloody entrails of more than a dozen men, that is), Ralph D'Amico sat at his desk and stared disbelievingly at the two photographs in front of him.

'Are you fucking kiddin' me?' he snapped at the rotund, dark-haired man sitting opposite him, rigid in the soft leather chair. 'These are the two responsible for killing Frank and everyone on his payroll? For taking down Chris's nutjob gang? _These two?_ They're fuckin' kids!'

'Yes, sir, that's right,' the man replied, more than a little nervous as he watched his boss's eyes bulge ever so slightly – something he had never seen in his usually calm and collected superior. 'We've been trying to draw them out of hiding, but they're not biting so far. We think they might have left the city after what happened with your nephew last year, to escape the heat, you know.' He paused, aware that there was only one piece of information Ralph was really looking for: the whereabouts of the two kids in question. 'Unfortunately, we, er, still don't know where they are exactly, but…'

'Then you better find out,' Ralph hissed. 'We've got their names; they shouldn't be too hard to track down for anyone _competent_ enough.' The implication (and by extension threat) was clear in his words and tone. 'Are you a competent man, Micky?'

'I'd like to think so, sir, yes,' Micky said in a would-be confident voice.

'I don't need you to _think_. I need you to _know_.' Ralph slowly lit the cigarette he had been caressing between his thumb and forefinger, his eyes never leaving the other man's. 'Can I trust you to do as I've asked?'

'Yes.'

'Good. Now: deliver me these two punks – by any means necessary.'

Only once the other man had left and closed the sturdy wooden door behind him did Ralph exhale a small sigh along with the next mouthful of smoke. Kick Ass and Hit Girl…what kind of messed up, immature fucking names were those? Running around in superhero costumes, evading Gigante's dickhead cops – _Frank was whacked by_ these_ two_? If Ralph hadn't heard first-hand accounts, hadn't seen photos of their violent handiwork from reliable sources – men who would lie to him on pain of a very slow, agonising death – he would never have believed it. Perhaps Frank had gone soft during the time his elder brother had been in lockup. Perhaps having a family had made him sentimental. Then again, he doubted it; the D'Amicos, by and large, were not known for their sentimentality, even for their loved ones. If Frank was anything like his brother (and Ralph had no reason to suspect otherwise), he would have sacrificed his nearest and dearest in a heartbeat if it meant holding onto what was _really _important: power, money, control. Those were the things that the D'Amicos had always coveted; those were the things that Ralph was going to make damn sure he didn't have to give up ever again.

Ten minutes and three cigarettes later, Ralph found himself out on the balcony of the twenty-first floor apartment, looking out over what should have been – and would be again – _his _city. It was a balmy evening, the clouds scudding across the sky and every so often obscuring the glow from the full moon, leaving the city to function solely on its own electric lights; far below the dull hum of traffic and sound of impatient drivers could be heard as though through a wad of cotton candy. If he strained his ears enough, Ralph fancied he could almost hear the profanity-laden shrieks of road rage and drunken brawls…but perhaps that was simply his vivid imagination taking over. After all, he'd had plenty of time to exercise it in the intervening years, with little more than himself and his overweight cellmate for company most nights.

He was still enjoying the relative peace of the outdoors when he heard the door of his office creak open again, followed by a string of obscenities and the unmistakeable squeal of wheels. Rolling his eyes, he threw the butt of his last cigarette over the railing and turned to face the unwelcome visitor with a passive expression on his lined face.

'You could make this place a little more cripple-friendly, you know,' the intruder snapped, coming to a halt next to Ralph's presidential desk. 'If I was a cynical bastard, I might think you didn't want me visiting at all.'

'And to think, everyone said those months in rehab would mellow you,' Ralph replied wearily.

'No, they just made me even angrier, even hungrier for vengeance.' He paused, eyeing the photos on the desk in front of him. 'Speaking of which – how's that going?'

'I'm sure I told you not to bother yourself with such tiresome thoughts,' Ralph said quietly, his tone almost…fatherly. 'They will be no good to you on your road to recovery, which, God willing, will be over soon enough.'

'Quit the bullshit, Uncle Ralph,' Chris D'Amico retorted, waving his hand dismissively at the older man. 'Do you really think I'm that stupid? I know you just want me out of the way whilst you plot to take back what my father lost.'

'What _you _lost, boy.' Ralph planted his hands on the desk, palms down, fingers spread wide, his paternal façade shed in an instant. 'I told you before: you had your chance to take over this family, and you screwed up. Big time. Now _I'm_ left to clear up the fucking shit-storm _you_ created, and I will do so without you interfering. And this time, that's not friendly advice. Is that understood?'

Any rational person would be rightly intimidated by this controlled outburst from the man many of his own thugs had dubbed 'Ruthless Ralph' and drop the argument there and then. But, as everyone knew, 'rational' was not a word that was often ascribed to Chris D'Amico. Apparently oblivious to the murderous glare he was currently the recipient of, Chris looked as though he wanted to get to his feet, to draw himself up to his (admittedly not very threatening) full height; he instead settled for leaning as far forwards in his electric wheelchair as he could manage.

'No, it's fucking not!' he shouted, slamming his fist onto the arm of the chair. 'That rat bastard Dave Lizewski is the reason I have no dad and _no fucking dick_!' He gestured wildly to his groin area as if to reiterate his point. 'No dick! If it's the last thing I do, I will repay the favour by cutting _his_ off and shoving it down his fucking throat whilst his bimbo bitch of a sidekick watches. And then I will fill her with so many holes she will look like Swiss fucking cheese by the time I'm finished. And I will do it with or without your approval, your help, and certainly without your fucking permission. Now…is _that _understood?'

Whether it was the near-death experience with the shark ten months previous, or the blows to the head he had received prior to his thirty-foot drop into the tank of salty water, or the innumerable drugs he had been pumped with since, or the fact that having no male genitalia had paradoxically imbued him with larger (metaphorical) balls – whatever it was, Ralph had to admit that his idiotic nephew had certainly become bolder since their fateful meeting in prison all those months ago. Frank had often complained that his only son was a massive disappointment, that he was not fit to take over his lucrative operations, that he was convinced he had been swapped at birth by a vindictive midwife intent on ruining him. Yet here stood (sat) a young man who, if Ralph didn't know better, would certainly seem to belie these views. It was, he admitted, _almost_ impressive.

Almost.

But Ralph _did_ know better. He had been in the game long enough to see when someone had an unhealthy obsession with revenge that would inevitably get them killed. He could see that Chris's rage-induced rants were nothing more than the desperate acts of a spoilt, deluded child, throwing their toys out of their pram because they could not get what they wanted. Despite the fact there was no love lost between the two of them, he would not allow his only nephew to risk his life over a childish vendetta again – if only out of respect for Frank.

'Chris, I'm going to tell you this once and once only: if you get in the way, I will not be held responsible for what happens to you. It would serve you better to simply get on with your life as a normal kid – and be grateful that you even have that.'

'But – '

Finally pushed to his limits with the stupidity of the boy in front of him, Ralph did what Chris could not manage: he got to his feet so quickly that it startled his nephew and towered over him, his eyes narrowed with ill-disguised hostility.

'Go, _now_,' he said softly. 'Before you make me regret saving your life.'

Apparently the menace in his uncle's tone, not to mention the dangerous gleam in his grey eyes, was enough to make Chris realise this was yet another battle he would not be winning. His jaw clenched so tightly his teeth started to grind, Chris jammed his fist onto the chair's buttons and rolled out of the office as fast as his wheels would take him – which was not fast enough for all concerned.

With that minor annoyance dealt with, Ralph turned his attention back to the photos of the two people he was most anxious to meet – the two who now occupied most of his waking thoughts. He knew what it looked like – the new head of the D'Amico family was out for revenge against the punks who buried his brother and put more than a few dents in his inherited business (and this despite his words of advice to Chris about not harbouring destructive thoughts of a vendetta).

Yet it was more than that. If he was to consolidate his power in New York after seven years of shady, behind-bars deals – if he was to reignite the flames of his family's once glorious empire from the ashes it now lay in, then he had to send out a very simple yet powerful message to anyone who might be listening: _nobody fucks with Ralph D'Amico and lives to regret it._

**A/N: Me again! Something a little different here for you. I hope it doesn't jar with the previous chapters too much! Never fear, Mindy and Dave will return anon.**

**Just a heads up: I will be alternating PoVs fairly regularly in this fic, although they will usually be between Dave/Mindy with the odd insertion of other characters such as this chapter. I do like exploring the goings-on from different viewpoints, as will be evident to those who have read my Inception stories (if anyone reading this one has!)**

**Anyhoo, I will hush up now. I have the next chapter written but once again I am deliberating over it - this time whether to include it at all. We'll see.**

**EDIT: I suppose I could be marginally proud of myself for semi-predicting what was coming up in the comics? I've just finished reading the KA2 Hit Girl prequel and am now feeling somewhat of a thief after writing a similar story line in terms of Ralph without even realising, haha. Although I'm doing it backwards, after Chris's rampage. Oh well. I'll just have to make sure it's different enough to warrant a re-telling. :)**


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N: First of all, I'd like to reiterate my humble thanks to those who have reviewed this story so far, and especially those who have taken time to help me make it as authentic as possible within both the KA universe and the American setting. I shall be editing various details regarding the latter in particular as soon as I can get the time to sit down and work through the chapters already submitted. Unfortunately my 6 weeks holiday is almost over and I shall return to teaching rowdy teenagers the beauty of English Lang/Lit in a mere two days, so let's hope I can manage it before then!**

**As I mentioned at the end of my last chapter, I very nearly decided to scrap this one entirely. However, I relish the chance to explore the story from Mindy's POV, so it'll stay...for now.**

**(P.S.: You may have noticed that I tend to ramble in my A/Ns. For that I apologise profusely. If you knew me in real life, you would understand where it comes from...)**

**7.**

Despite the exhausting, eight-hour ride she had endured that day, Mindy found that she couldn't sleep. Her eyes stung like a bitch, her muscles were weeping with lactic acid, and her brain felt like it was running on fumes, yet sleep still eluded her. She wanted to attribute it to the lumpy mattress, the odd crumb that resolutely stuck to her legs, or the suspicious-looking stain she had spotted halfway down the bed sheet before turning the light off – but she knew, deep down, that none of the above were the real reasons for her current predicament.

What was, however, she was anxious not to investigate too closely. She had a feeling she would not like the results.

And so it was, nearly two hours after she had first said goodnight to Dave, Mindy found herself standing in front of his bedroom door, her fingers hovering over the handle. She tried to think of a reason for this, and came up with several – she needed the bathroom; she wanted a glass of water; she was compelled to check the apartment for any intruders – each less satisfactory than the last.

Sighing and mentally kicking her own ass into touch, she pulled the door open as quietly as she could and slipped into the living room-cum-kitchenette. Predictably, Dave's light snoring greeted her as soon as she did so. In the dim moonlight that peeked through the cracks in the blinds it was hard to make out anything more than a silhouette of a figure sprawled on the tiny couch. Yet after a few minutes of avid (and totally non-creepy) staring, Mindy's eyes adjusted and she could finally see a mass of curls at the end furthest away from where she was standing, one arm flung over his chest and the other trailing along the floor.

It was, she noted idly, not the first time she had watched Dave Lizewski sleeping. Four years previous she had jolted him awake and inadvertently created a union, a friendship even, that had gone from strength to strength. She had left through the window with little more than a blown kiss at her new acquaintance.

One year ago she had startled him awake again, that time breaking down like a fucking baby and sobbing onto his shoulder as he gave her a fantastic idea for getting back at Brooke and her pack of sycophantic whores. She had, again, left through the window – with a grateful smile and a promise _not_ to cut their tongues out, no matter how much she relished the thought.

This time…this time she didn't want to wake him. Instead, she wanted to watch him sleep, to follow the soft rise and fall of his chest with her tired eyes and wonder whether he was dreaming right then – and if so, what of. The D'Amicos? Kick Ass?

Her?

Whatever it was, it seemed pleasant enough; the ghost of a smile on his lips told her that, although perhaps it was simply a trick of the pale light and her burning eyes. Seeing him like that, at peace, with no worries or fears of what the next day might bring filled Mindy with mixed emotions. On the one hand, she was glad she had made that spontaneous decision to trek all the way down to see him, to ensure his safety in the aftermath of Ralph D'Amico's venomous public outburst; on the other hand, she knew she would regret it. Her very presence there was a reminder of their violent past together, of what he was missing by choosing not to be Kick Ass any more. If seeing him again stirred _her_ old, barely repressed desires to rekindle their successful partnership, to wreak sweet justice on the scum of the earth, surely it was doing the same for him? After all, they were the clichéd 'two peas in a pod'. They were the same. What affected one must affect the other. Cause and effect. Action and reaction. Like a fucking scientific fact.

Letting out a low growl of a sigh, Mindy rubbed her eyes with the heels of her hands, willing such ridiculous thoughts out of her mind. Since when had she become so introspective, anyway? She had never been one to bottle up her feelings, always choosing to wear her heart on her sleeve, the consequences be damned. With Mindy, you got what you saw. No surprises. No holds barred. Just in-your-face, blunt truths. If you didn't like it…well, you could go fuck yourself.

But now…

Now she had learned the hard way: some things just weren't meant to be out in the open for all to see.

Annoyed with herself for allowing her thoughts to wander so dramatically, Mindy was about to stalk back into the bedroom and _demand _that sleep take here when a sudden change in the room made her stop. She turned, looked around, strained her ears for whatever had alerted her attention.

That was when she realised: Dave's light snoring was no longer the only sound she could hear.

The only thing she _could_ hear, in fact, was her own slow heartbeat.

Letting her eyes drop to the couch once more, Mindy was shocked to find Dave's open eyes glistening in the dim light…and trained on her.

'Having a hard time sleeping?' he muttered, his voice thick with the sleep he had been enjoying minutes before.

'Something like that,' Mindy mumbled in return, unconsciously echoing his own response to an earlier question of hers.

Dave struggled into a sitting position as Mindy continued to hover by the bedroom door. 'Want to talk about it?'

_Did_ she want to talk about it, whatever 'it' was? Was there really anything to say? She hardly knew herself what the niggling feeling in her chest was; all she could accomplish by talking it through would be to ramble aimlessly at her tired friend, which would achieve very little in the way of a resolution.

'No, it's okay,' she finally replied. 'There's nothing wrong. Really. It's probably just the adrenaline from earlier. Must not have left my system yet.'

Oh yes, Mindy McCready was a very skilled liar. Pokerfaced, flat tone of voice…everything Daddy had taught her in order to preserve the element of surprise until the moment when she would spear a drug pusher in the balls or swipe off the top of their cranium with one slice of her blade.

It was good for her, then, that Dave could not see her expression in the darkened room, for it would most certainly have belied her half-truths delivered in an otherwise appropriately casual manner.

'Okay,' Dave said, sounding thoroughly unconvinced nevertheless. 'If you're sure…'

If Mindy had waited a few seconds longer to leave the room, she may well have given into the temptation to blurt out her incoherent mess of thoughts; as it was, she simply said goodnight for the second time in as many hours and returned to her bed, feeling considerably more apprehensive than she had done in many months.


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N: Me again! A little longer delay for this one given that I'm now fully back into the swing of teaching (where did those lazy, hazy days of summer go?) I probably won't be able to update more than once a week at most with the workload, but I'll try my best.**

**As for this chapter...well, I'd appreciate your opinions. I won't say more than that right now.**

**8.**

Dave awoke the next morning convinced that he would find Mindy long gone. Call it a gut feeling, intuition…whatever. Perhaps she'd left another note, another explanation for her decision to bolt. Perhaps she hadn't left anything at all, just disappeared without a word or a backwards glance.

Sitting upright, he rubbed the sleep from his eyes and spent a few seconds just listening.

Nothing but his own heartbeat and the rumble of traffic in the distance.

His heart suddenly racing a little faster, he leapt up off the creaky couch and hurried to his bedroom.

'Mindy?' he said softly, knocking on the door. 'Are you awake?'

No answer.

He pushed the door open, slowly, carefully.

Nothing but a perfectly-made bed and open curtains, through which the sun streamed in and lit up the once-white walls.

_She's gone. _He had known it as soon as he'd woken up. She'd stayed true to her word and left first thing in the morning. He should have tried harder to convince her to stay. Perhaps then…

'The bathroom,' he muttered to himself, swinging around and taking the four steps back out towards the living room. Another three steps and he was in front of the closed bathroom door. 'Mindy?' he tried again, this time louder, more urgent. 'Are you in there? Mindy?'

If he had been paying attention to his own voice and not the absence of one on the other side of the wall, Dave might have noticed the hint of desperation that had crept into his tone. As it was, he only thought about the lack of a response his questions were receiving. Defeated, he slumped against the door and slid down it onto his backside. She was definitely gone. He had really hoped…maybe…

Perhaps it was simply a dream? A figment of his fevered, paranoid imagination. Just at the point when he was feeling most vulnerable, when he needed someone beside him to watch his back, he had visualised the one person who could make him feel safe again.

Dave wanted to laugh at his own absurd thoughts, but the sound died in his throat. He was alone…again. The feeling of a complete and sudden loss, the niggling emptiness took him by surprise; he never would have thought her departure would affect him quite so badly. After all, it hadn't last time. Sure, he had been upset at losing his partner, but he had had other, more pressing things to worry about. This time, though…this time was different. What he wanted more than anything right then was for her to stay, to help him relive the old days of training and ass-kicking and –

A sudden breeze flung the front door wide open, the sound of it crashing into the wall enough to jolt Dave out of his sombre reverie. He jumped to his feet and strode over to it, wondering vaguely what it was doing open in the first place. Had he forgotten to lock it last night?

Had Mindy really been here and left it open when she had departed?

Frowning, Dave poked his head outside and looked around. He turned to the left, and then to the right; both directions were disappointingly devoid of any blonde sixteen-year-old girls. Sighing, he was about to shut the door again when a faint scratching noise caught his attention. It sounded like…wheels rolling over tiny pebbles. Like a car going two miles per hour down a stone-ridden path.

'I'd go back inside if I were you,' a voice called out from the alleyway to the right of his apartment. 'Unless, of course, you _like_ being the object of lonely middle-aged women's fantasies.'

Almost instinctively, Dave glanced at the window of the house opposite to find a dark-haired woman peering (apparently at his bare chest) through her half-open curtains; she hastily yanked them shut again when she caught his eye. Then, realising that the voice sounded familiar even in his sleepy state, he bounded out of the house and stared down the narrow alley at the owner.

'Mindy!' he cried, his voice loud in the quiet of the morning. 'You're here!'

Mindy's expression alone was enough to make him feel like an idiot, without her added 'Of course I am, dumbass. Where else would I be?'

But Dave didn't care. After half-convincing himself in his morning stupor that she had either left him for a second time or had never visited in the first place, he was elated to see her standing there in her training gear once again. Without thinking, he took a step towards her and pulled her into a tight embrace. He felt her back stiffen beneath his large hands.

'Dave, what the fuck? What's gotten into you?' she mumbled against his chest, where her face was unceremoniously squashed.

Dave took a step back, a sudden sheepish grin on his face. 'Sorry,' he muttered quickly. 'I just…it's silly, really…'

Impatient as always, Mindy simply shook her head and threw him another 'What the fuck?' look rather than wait for his stuttered explanation. 'Whatever, dude. I just came out to check my bike was still all right. If you're quite done with all the freaky shit…'

She led the way back inside the apartment with Dave in tow, still feeling a little dazed by the randomness of his own thoughts. How could he seriously have believed he had dreamt up her visit? He wasn't _that_ deluded. Then again, it would have been like her to take off without a word, so _that _one wasn't so far-fetched…

'Are you done gawking at the wall?' Mindy asked, her eyebrows raised in what Dave assumed was expectation. 'Because I'm starving.'

'Oh! Right. Breakfast. Eggs? Bacon? Coffee?'

If Mindy noticed he was spewing only single-word sentences – a sure sign that his brain was not yet functioning at its mid-morning best – she was either too polite or too dumbfounded to point it out. She had, after all, never seen him in early-morning mode, when he could easily have passed for an extra in _I, Robot_ (or so his father had often revelled in pointing out).

'Er, yeah, that's fine,' Mindy replied slowly. 'Are you sure you're okay, Dave? I mean, you're acting kinda weird. Even for you.'

Dave laughed – a little too loudly and cheerfully to be fully convincing – and busied himself with retrieving the necessary ingredients from the fridge. 'What makes you say that?'

'Oh, I don't know,' Mindy began sardonically. 'Maybe the fact you bear-hugged me in the middle of the street wearing nothing but boxers? Or the fact you can't seem to string a simple sentence together? Or that creepy fake laugh that wouldn't sound out of place in Brooke's gang of sycophantic sluts?' She paused, long enough to make Dave look up and notice her narrowed eyes – never a good sign. 'You've heard something, haven't you? On the news?'

It was Dave's turn to frown at her and look bemused. 'What? No, I haven't even checked it this morning.'

'Bullshit,' was the ever-eloquent reply. 'You forget, I can always tell when you're lying.'

Before Dave could reassure that he had not, in fact, bullshitting her, Mindy had whipped her cell out and brought up the CNN site with a few deft touches. He wondered whether he should put her mind at rest and simply tell her about his ridiculous 'just-woken-up' thoughts regarding her absence, but he didn't have the chance. Within seconds Mindy's face had fallen.

'What is it?' Dave asked quickly, taking a step towards her. 'D'Amico?'

Mindy only shook her head and held her screen towards him. The headline read: 'Two more 'real superheroes' found brutally murdered on the streets of New York'. His stomach churning, Dave dropped onto the couch and rested his head in his hands.

'Shit,' he muttered.

'That's not all,' Mindy continued as she scrolled down the page with her thumb. 'You know one of them quite well...'

Dave snapped his head up to look at her again, his palms leaving a thin layer of moisture behind as he removed them from his forehead. The sickness in his gut told him he knew what was coming next…

Mindy fixed him with a steady gaze before confirming his fears. 'It's that Night Bitch.'


End file.
